#promptober 2022

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Promptober Day 18

Bonfire

Daemon Targaryen x reader

Word Count: 188

NOTE: Reader is Daemon’s wife and it’s before the show.

It was cold. Even King’s Landing in Winter was bitterly, miserably cold. But you weren’t in King’s Landing. No, you and Daemon had the bright idea of getting away from it all for a spell. Certainly, this wasn’t ideal behavior from the Crown Prince and his Lady, and yet you couldn’t find the will to care because even in this bone-deep cold you were happy as long as he was by your side. Which he was.

You were firmly snuggled into his warm, left side with Caraxes curled around you both. The flames of a small bonfire set by the dragon’s breath danced not far in front of you.

“Happy?” he asked. When you turned to look at him, there was an annoyingly smug smirk firmly on his face.

“You could say that,” you teased back immediately.

“Good.” He leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, his impossibly pale hair falling around your faces like a curtain, “Because I think my brother might kill us for abandoning him when we return.”

“I guess we’ll have to make the most of this then.”

That smirk turned knowing. “I suppose we will.”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon imagine #daemon x reader #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #reader insert #promptober 2022

[kittttycakes]

[blurb] heart to heart, as lovers do

summary: It’s easy to forget that Morpehus isn’t really human, but a quiet moment reminds her that this is, indeed, the case. She and Hob can’t really say they mind. 

contents: Morpheus x reader x Hob Gadling, she/her reader, third person POV, no use of Y/N, fluff, human shaped but not human Morpheus, 0.6k

notes: written for the prompt “heartbeat” for my promptober 2022 self challenge

She finds it comforting, the sound of a lover’s heartbeat under her ear, the gentle unceasing rhythm - I am alive, I am alive, I am alive.

Hob is used to it by now, but Morpheus is still new enough to their shared bed not to realize how deeply seriously she takes the moments after, tangling her limbs with the two of theirs and making it terribly inconvenient to leave the bed until she deigns to let go.

Her head rests on Morpheus’s chest, one arm thrown over him to reach Hob. She’s gently running her fingers through Hob’s hair when she pauses, sitting up abruptly and looking down at the two of them.

“You haven’t got one,” she says, tone caught somewhere between puzzled and concerned, before leaning back down to place her head against his chest once more. “It’s so quiet.”

“He hasn’t got one what?” Hob asks, eyes half closed already and only half paying attention.

“A heartbeat,” she replies, propping herself up slightly to look down at Morpheus, who looks vaguely amused at this exchange.

“Of course he’s got a heartbeat,” Hob says, eyes opening again. “Everyone does.”

“He doesn’t. Here, listen.” She half tugs Hob over, a motion which is helped along more than a little by Morpheus himself, who seems content to let this exchange play out over him as it may.

After a moment, Hob is forced to concede: there is not, in fact, an audible heartbeat below his head, no matter how he turns it. He rests his chin on Morpheus’s chest, looking up at him. “She’s right. You haven’t got one.”

Morpheus’s expression remains amused as he reaches down to brush back an errant strand of Hob’s hair. “I do not need a heartbeat.”

Hob looks unimpressed by this explanation. “Next you’re going to tell me that you don’t need to breathe.”

Morpheus raises an eyebrow, and his chest ceases its steady rise and fall. Hob waits, and she watches beside him, studying Morpheus’s face for any signs of discomfort as the seconds tick by, then a minute, then two.

“This whole time, you’ve never even needed to breathe?” she asks, incredulous. She sits up fully, sheets pooling in her lap. “I’ve seen you breathing and I’ve certainly felt it. Have you been faking it this whole time?”

“I’ve been told it can be…disconcerting, in mixed company, if I do not,” he replies carefully.

Hob rolls to his back again, stretching. “I forget sometimes, you know. That you aren’t, technically, human. It’s the logical extension, I suppose, of you not needing to eat, or sleep. I probably should have guessed it by now.”

“How on earth could you have guessed it? I wouldn’t have,” she says, laying back down, head on Morpheus’s chest again, once more rising and falling slowly with each breath, as she looks over at Hob.

“Haven’t you noticed? We match. Watch.” Hob breathes in, and so does Morpheus. He exhales, and the other man’s chest falls in tandem. “I thought it was just proximity, synchronizing with the people close to you, which is a very human thing to do—” He cuts himself off with a yawn, settling back into the pillows, and doesn’t continue.

“You mean to tell me, that this entire time, you’ve been matching your entirely unnecessary breathing to Hob, just so neither of us noticed that you don’t actually have to breathe?” She looks up at Morpheus, eyebrows raised.

“Not the entire time,” he replies. “You and I have been alone together, without Hob, and at those times, I’ve matched yours.”

What does it say about her, that her own breath catches at that, that there is something romantic in it, to her, even unintentionally? She settles against him again instead, willing to let the conversation lull—Hob is, after all, already more asleep than not again beside them—and nearly jumps when she hears it: a heartbeat, soft and steady, under her ear.

#morpheus x reader #hob gadling x reader #morpheus x hob gadling x reader #morpheus x oc #hob gadling x oc #morpheus x hob gadling x oc #the reader who must not be named WIP #they're all in love and I love that for them #what does it say about me that I really do want more content with morpheus not quite being human nobody answer that #is this cute or just weird? a question I asked myself many times before posting #this is not the promised smut but the smut is coming (pun not intended) #promptober 2022 #kittycakes writes

[bittykimmy13]

I'm doing prompts again this year! However, I'm gonna be really flexible and do whichever word I'm feeling on that particular day. I won't be posting all my writings-- just my favorites that I wanna clean up. I'll probably go past October too lol

No rules 🥳🎃

Feel free to be inspired for writing or art!! ✨

#kimspeak #promptober 2022 #inktober #prompts #writing prompts #art prompts #gt community #g/t community

[weeee]

Weeee's Drawtober 2022

I didn't really like any of the few inktober/drawtober/promptober lists I saw this year so, even though I don't usually participate, I decided to make my own. I included a fun version and a clean, high contrast version. This was made with visual art in mind, but feel free to use any medium. Image description in alt.

Optional and dubiously helpful prompt exposition below the cut:

We're starting off with a choice between classic and contemporary with this one. Feel free to make your interpretation as scary or ominous as you want. For those of you with clown phobias, take advantage of the more vague carnival option.

2. Bones - y'know bones. We've all got 'em. Right?

3. Draw one of your own personal autumn traditions, or something traditionally Halloween!

4. Reaching for.... help? For salvation? For... you?

5. ...

6. The great gourd of the season! You could draw your favourite jack-o-lantern design, a dessert, or the pumpkin-headed king of Halloween themself.

7. Chains, knives, faesbane, etc. You can never go wrong with iron.

8. Some call it stalking, I say walking - just extremely close behind. If traditional people stalkers are a sensitive topic for you, please take 'Scarecrows' as an alternative prompt.

9. Let's throw it back, baby. Think diners, truck stops, thick glass bottles, or whatever particular thing retro means for you.

10. Landline phones have infinitely more spooky vibes than mobiles.

11. Does this prompt call to mind winding paths, being torn between choice, or crossroad deals with demons? I wrote this prompt with the lattermost in mind, but the choice is yours.

12. Is it good or bad? Friend or foe?

13. Let's get some colours and vibrancy going on in here. Neon signs, string lights, bright palettes, etc.

14. It's wings, baby. The sky's the limit.

15. Lights! Juxtapose the spooky darkness of Halloween with some glow.

16. I'm on the edge of my seat. Am I excited? Am I exhilarated? Am I shouting "Don't go in there!!"? You tell me!

17. Design a coupon for a Halloween event, or item. Like, for example, 50% of Michael Myers' mask. Alternatively, draw me a Halloween spook using a coupon at a gas station or something. Be creative!

18. We love fungi, fungi love us. Show me how much.

19. What is even in that creepy bastard? Or on it, for that matter? Nobody knows!

20. I stole this one from this year's official Inktober. It's just so dynamic.

21. You know what candy is. Do something with it!

22. Use a cartoon style, use a cartoon character, make it move, etc.

23. Like a costume, but with a purpose.

24. Whether you choose a public washroom or a private one, these are hubs for all sorts of scary shit. Take advantage of the mirrors, drains, stalls, or sinks.

25. Remember when I said that landlines are the creepiest phone? Make me take it back.

26. Cute puppy in a costume, or vicious werewolf on the prowl? Or mix and match them together. Do whatever you want!

27. Weapons can be anything! Or, rather, anything can be a weapon, in the right hand.

28. Slasher films are a personal Halloween staple of mine, so I'd be remiss to not include it. Think Scream, I Know What You Did Last Summer, or even Happy Death Day.

29. This has nothing to do with ventriloquism, but have you seen The Boy? That movie was fucked up - I really didn't see the twist coming.

30. Something positive! Or maybe not. Point is, someone, or something, is in looove.

31. Draw your OC, or a character you really like, all dressed up for tonight!

#drawtober 2022 #weeee's drawtober 2022 #inktober 2022 #inktober #promptober 2022 #i dont know if anyone else will find this helpful #but if i didn't like any of the lists this year - maybe there's someone else who didn't either #it was fun to make regardless though #i'm not even sure if /I'll/ do these lol #also it's six am so good morning everyone

[thiswasinevitableid]

Of Men and Monsters (Indruck)

Prompt for the 8th: Arctic Research Vessel. This fill is NSFW

It’s a fair trade. 

Duck will spend six months aboard the Greenbank, anchored in a cove so far North the sun won’t set on him for most of his stay. The Greenbank has a small cabin at the edge of the beach, a back-up dwelling in case a storm makes the boat unsafe. Duck is paid to test equipment and monitor the quality of food and medical supplies in freezing conditions. In Duck’s free time, he’s allowed to study the plants of the region and take any findings about them back home to Kepler.

So yeah, it’s a fair trade. But it’s a fucking lonely and freezing one.

Nome is the nearest town, and it’s not close enough for him to visit for anything more than supply drops. There’s an Inuit settlement closer by, but he hasn’t done more than wave to them when they’re out in their boats. 

He’s been here a month and he’s already talking to himself, to the birds, and to the lichen on the rocks. At least no one’s seen him do it; they might think he’s losing it.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid is not certain why this man has started living so near his yurt. Nor can he figure out what he is doing as he shoves empty boots into the snow for hours or tenderly digs little plants from the ground. 

What he does know is the man is currently singing a nonsense melody as he works. 

“Lichen on a rock, doot de doo, lichen on a rock, da da da…”

Indrid finds it charming, just as he finds the glimpses of the man’s face from under his coat and the strange accent in his voice. He knows from books that it’s polite to introduce oneself to a neighbor.

Those books do not say what to do if you are an abomination whose own father rejected him after sewing together stolen body parts and electrifying him to life. A host gift isn’t going to make up for his frightful appearance. And he’s had his fill of people fleeing him in terror.

Then again, they’re still in the late winter. It’s dark for much of the day. If the man cannot see his face, perhaps they can be friends. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe it’s the short days, but Duck is developing one massive case of the heebie-jeebies. He worked in the woods at night back home with no trouble, never felt eyes on the back of his neck or like the darkness held something he couldn’t explain. 

A storm came while he was in the cabin, and now that darkness is closing in he ought to go back to the ship. Whenever he reaches for the door, the fear that’s stalked him all day takes hold and he decides he can stay here with his notes a little longer. 

There’s a crunch outside the door and when he looks up, human eyes stare through a small gap in the wood.

“Jesus!”

“Oh!” A man’s voice on the other side, “apologies, I did not mean to alarm you.”

“You kinda did, seein’ as I didn’t think there was anyone else for miles. You the reason I’ve been feelin’ eyes on my the last few days?” He glances at the corner, relieved to see his rifle where he left it.

“Indeed. Unless you felt that at a time when I was not observing you. I, ah, I live nearby, even further from town than yourself. I was curious about you but…wary of introducing myself. I came tonight to tell you I very much enjoy your singing.”

“My sing–oh, oh jesus” he giggles, resting a hand over his face, “didn’t know anyone was hearing that. Glad it didn’t bug you.”

“Is the singing part of why you are here?”

“Not unless the old wives tale that singing to plants makes ‘em grow is true.”

“And what do the tools you keep checking but not using have to do with the plants?”

“They’re” the wind rattles the boards “uh, look, you wanna come inside? I’d hate for you to fuckin freeze to death listen to me ramble. Or if you don’t mind a walk, we could go back to the boat. It’s warmer there.”

“I would very much like to see the inside of your boat.”

Duck gathers his notes into his satchel, tugs his hat and coat even tighter around himself, and shoulders his rifle. When he opens the door, he stumbles back on instinct; the man outside is huge, at least a foot taller than him, draped in furs and patchwork clothing. Only his eyes are visible through the wraps protecting his face from the cold. In the glow of the lantern, he looks sad.

“You do not need to be frightened. But” his gloved fingers twist one another, “if you have changed your mind, I will depart.”

“No, no it’s fine. Wouldn’t mind a little company. Gets real fuckin lonely out here, but I’m guessin you know that.”

The man nods as they set off towards the beach, pausing their conversation until they’re aboard the Greenbank and can talk without icicles forming on their tongues. His guest keeps his face covered as Duck starts the fire in the stove and lights the lamps. It’s a little disconcerting to have only his eyes and mouth to go off of, but Duck knows a thing or two about needing to conceal parts of yourself to get by. 

As he boils water, his guest straightens in his seat, “Oh my manners. My name is Indrid.” He holds out a hand and Duck shakes it.

“Duck Newton. To, uh, to answer your question, I’m here studying how different kinds of equipment and such hold up to arctic conditions. I’m guessin you don’t get much current news up here?”

“No. I have my books, but they hardly update themselves. Though that would be lovely.” His voice is wistful, “what worldly even means you must be up here testing boots and ropes and tin cans?”

“Mountain climbing, mostly. Some polar exploration, too. Folks climbing Mt. Everest and it’s cousins for science and glory. And the people funding those expeditions will pay plenty for someone to run tests and make sure if somethin kills those explorers, it won’t be frostbitten feet or faulty gear. The plant stuff is….well, see, back home I’m an arborist. In this little town called Kepler. Down in the United States. We had a hell of a winter year before this and it put a lot of folks farms in deep trouble. I read up on a lot of botany and such and I think there might be a way to modify what we grow usin’ plants from hard, cold climates so that if we keep gettin these winters, not as many folks will be in trouble. So here I am. Uh, what about you? You a trapper or somethin’?”

Indrid shakes his head, “I ended up here through some complicated circumstances. I found a place with limited contact serves me best.” He smiles, wide and awkward, “I assure you my life is unremarkable. I would very much like to hear more about your work.”

Duck sets a mug down in front of Indrid, carries his own over and starts talking about his study of the nearby birches and aspens, assuming his guest will either change the subject or nod off after a few minutes. Instead, a half hour passes and Indrid’s chin is resting in his palms as he listens, rapt, to Duck’s tangent about pine tree pests back home. 

“What are the birds like there? I, when I was younger I very much enjoyed marveling at the birds in the woods.” Indrid’s smile suggests he thinks he’s asking too much. 

“One sec.” Duck stands, grabbing one of his books from home with the illustration plates, then moves his chair closer to Indrid’s and sits down to share it with him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s a rare afternoon of sunshine, so Indrid is laying on a secluded stretch of pebbly beach. The cold is still borderline painful, but it’s worth the sting for the reminder that he is free. As the warmth caresses his cheeks and fingers, Indrid wonders what to ask Duck about when he visits tonight.  Yesterday, they played cards while Duck told him about summers in West Virginia, about hot nights and the way cicadas call from the trees. A long buried urge to travel rekindled as he thought of following Duck south.

It’s clear Duck reciprocates his curiosity, though mercifully he’s never pushed Indrid to reveal his true appearance. 

“You travel much before coming here?”

“Some. I was born in Germany and it was not a straight path to here.”

“That explains the little accent you got.”

“Your accent is far more exotic than mine.” 

Duck smiles at him, “Got me there.”

A thump of boots yanks him from his daydreams.

“‘Drid?”

God help him, Duck is too close, he’ll see his face before Indrid can cover himself. It’s been decades since he came to be, the stitches and sutures long ago turned to scars, and his hair now grows long enough to hide some of them. But still his appearance still terrifies, and the instant Duck sees it he will be all alone again. 

“Fuck!” Duck gasps.

Indrid bolts upright, “I can explain-”

“Indrid, what happened to you?” Duck kneels beside him, taking his hand, “Did someone hurt you?”

Indrid blinks at him; no one has ever assumed that was the source of the marks, no one has ever thought first of how he might be hurting. 

“That is a complicated question.”

“Who the fuck would attack you? You’re the gentlest fuckin guy I know.”

He sighs, “People react poorly to things that scare them. I am one such thing.”

Duck runs his gloved fingers over Indrid’s knuckles, “Yeah, folks react to all kinds of things in ways they don’t deserve.”

Not for the first time, Indrid wonders what Duck isn’t telling him. From their conversations, he suspects money and altruism aren’t the only reasons he’s braving the cold and solitude.

His friend is still holding his hand, still stroking it with an unfamiliar tenderness, “Is that why you kept your face hidden? You thought I’d be scared of you?”

“I could have handled that initially. But once we got acquainted, the thought of losing your company kept me hidden.”

Duck sits fully beside him, still holding his hand, “You don’t gotta hide from me anymore, you hear?”

Cautiously, he tilts his head and rests it against Duck’s shoulder, and stays that way until the cold drives them back to the boat. 

One of the many benefits of Duck seeing his face is that he can visit him in the growing hours of daylight, or even sit by his side as he conducts his research. As they often have time to converse during the day, their evenings increasingly consist of reading near the small fire in Duck’s boat. 

As Indrid re-reads his own books or new ones from Duck’s small collection, he’s drawn to the descriptions of romance and marriage. Knowing Duck means reading them with new eyes, understanding more keenly the ache to be seen in such a way, the longing and, though he’s shy to admit it, lusting that comes with being near someone who makes his heart flutter against his chest like a moth in a jar. 

The nearby Inuit know him, his trick of staying covered lasting long enough for periodic visits in which he helps with hunting or skinning or, on calmer days, minding the children. He goes to them more frequently as spring creeps across the land, trading work for practical gifts he can then give Duck. A fur blanket for his bed earns Indrid a particularly bright smile, and he wonders if there are books that instruct men on how to build a life where they come home to other men who love them (instead of the wives who are always appearing in such stories), and what he would have to do to obtain those texts. 

Duck brings Indrid gifts after each of his scant visits to Nome, which Indrid dreads because perhaps the boat will not come back and he will lose Duck’s company earlier than he’s prepared for. Indrid takes the food and books as a good sign, and raids his library for further ideas on how to woo someone. Flowers are a popular choice, as is jewelry, but one is scarce and the other will take him a while to make from bones and ivory. A poem will have to do for now, just as soon as he can sneak some paper away from Duck to write it on. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Duck doesn’t believe in soulmates, but he does believe in kindred spirits. And he never thought this is where he’d find one. He also never thought he could be so happy with someone bringing him wild game that he’d cook on the fire while they made coffee (the powereded kind that Duck remains immensely grateful for). When people described such scenes to him, they always pictured him as the wife, and so he recoiled from the images on instinct. 

If Indrid sees him as anything close to that, it’s a husband. He even accidentally called Duck “dearest” two days ago, changing the subject before Duck could tease him for the slip-up. 

Indrid arrives around dinner time, removing his fur boots by the door and pulling out Duck’s chair so he can sit down. Throughout the meal, the larger man fidgets with his fork and drums on the table. It’s not until they’ve cleared the dishes that he says, “There is something I wish to present to you. Please, sit by the fire.”

He waits until Duck is seated on the rug, then stands, clears his throat and begins haltingly reciting in verse. At first, Duck assumes it’s just a love poem he doesn’t know, but as the descriptions turn towards watching the subject tend plants within a ship's cabin, he understands. 

Indrid finishes, hurriedly sits down beside Duck. His expression is one of fearful hope, and Duck wants nothing more than to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless. He just needs to tell him one thing first.

“When I was born, my folks thought they’d had a daughter. Even though I’m definitely a son.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Did your father also alter you to make a new man?”

“What? No, I’m just doing this with my clothes and stuff.”

“Ingenious! Is that what Americans mean by “self-made man?”

He snickers, “Not quite. Just means I ain’t built the same as most fellas.”

“Neither am I.” Indrid takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, “If you reciprocate my affection I, I feel I must be honest as well. I was not born, Duck. Not really. My father was a brilliant scientist, who built on the works of a predecessor–who brought a cadaver to life–to bring me into the world. That is why my face looks as it does; he tried to make me more powerful, more perfect, than a human could be.” His smile turns bitter, “as you see, it did not go as planned.”

“Dunno, you seem pretty damn perfect to me.” The delighted surprise in Indrid’s face when he says this is enough to send him crawling into his lap. Indrid stares down at him, movements uncertain until Duck cups his face and draws it down for a kiss. Then cool lips part and Indrid’s tongue hungrily slips between them to tease at Duck’s own. 

When they break the kiss, Indrid stays hunched forward, resting his cheek atop Duck’s head.

“What I am truly does not bother you?”

“It’s weird as all fuckin get-out. But from where I’m sittin’, the worst part of it was you ending up lonely.”

“You may change your mind once you see me sans clothing.”

“Howsabout you let me be the judge of that?” Duck fiddles with the ties on Indrid’s coat, “if you want, I mean. Take me to bed and we can-AH” he laughs as Indrid stands and easily carries him over to where his bed is built against the wall of his bedroom.

“Do you like when I carry you?”

“Don’t usually happen for a fella my size. And, uh, I, uh” a blush burns his cheeks, “I do like how big and strong you are.” He undoes Indrid’s coat, pushes it away to battle with the ties and stray buttons keeping the fur and fabric patchwork of his shirts in place. Indrid stiffens as more skin peeks into view, so Duck takes his time stroking each new patch, keeping his voice low as he does, “After that first night I, uh, I got to thinkin’ about how alone we are up here. How you’re so much bigger than me that you coulda overpowered me easily and done whatever you wanted to me.”

“Oh goodness, I’d never abuse anyone in such a way.” 

Duck kisses a fading scar on his shoulder, “I know. Hell, even after that one visit, I knew you weren’t a threat. Didn’t mean it wasn’t real, uh, entertainin’ to think about.” Indrid’s breathing is picking up, so he keeps going, “I climbed into this here bed, buried myself under the covers, and fucked myself thinkin about you holding me down by the fire and usin’ me.”

Indrid moans, the sound comically small, and grips Duck’s thighs, “Please say you will also disrobe.”

He hesitates; it’s been a long, long time since he was even close to naked with a partner. 

“It’s alright if you do not. I do not wish you to do anything that would make you feel less like yourself.” Indrid is contently toying with Duck’s hair and caressing his face as if his wind-burnt skin is that of an angel. 

“Fuck it.” He strips off layer after layer of clothing, Indrid bouncing slightly on the bed as he does until Duck levels him with what he hopes is an alluring expression and growls, “get naked and get under the blankets.”

Indrid’s remaining clothes join his on the floor and he slips into bed before Duck can get a good look at him. The instant the bindings on his chest are gone he dives into the soft, warm nest before he can change his mind; he wants nothing between them and he intends to get that, goddamn it.

He rolls onto his side. Indrid is mirroring him, lifts the blankets slightly for a better look and makes the most gratifying noise as he drinks him in. 

“I did not know men could be so handsome.”

“Thanks, darlin.” At this rate, he’s going to be pinker than a virgin at a cabaret before Indrid even touches him. 

The bed is small enough that there’s little space between them, making it easy to hook his leg over Indrid’s and pull him in for another kiss. Gentle fingers hover over his side and chest, Indrid shaking with restrained desire. 

“You can touch. Just, uh, don’t grab here, okay? That’d be too much” He gestures to his chest.

“Understood.” One hand instantly runs up and down his side. The other settles across his collarbone and upper chest, resting there tenderly as Indrid begins kissing his face. Duck takes this chance to study Indrid in the lamplight. There are scars on his torso and stomach, but they’re no more alarming than what might come after a particularly intense surgery. The skin tone doesn’t quite match in places, but is that all that stranger than the farmer’s tan Duck gets in the summertime?

Maybe a little, but if strange is the price of having someone who sees him this clearly and touches him this hungrily, he’ll pay it.

“Your body was made to be touched. To be worshiped. It would give me immense pleasure to be the one to treat it how you deserve.” He traces kisses from one shoulder to another, touches growing firmer as Duck’s hips twitch. “Then again, as you said, I’m much bigger than you. I could simply do as I pleased.”

“Fuck.” He grabs Indrid’s hair, tugging him into a kiss, “yeah, you could. And I’d love it because I know you ain’t ever gonna hurt me, not really.”

Indrid pulls back in time for Duck to see the sorrow that always lingers at the edges of his eyes disappear. Then he laughs as he’s pinned on his back, Indrid kissing him ravenously. Curious, he slips a hand between them, earning him a groan as he runs it down the length of Indrid’s cock. 

“Jesus Christ, ‘Drid.”

“Is something wrong?” Indrid raises onto his elbows, looking down with earnest concern. 

“You realize your dick is huge, right? Guess it makes sense if he was tryin’ to keep things proportional but wooof.” He looks up, smiles reassuringly as he squeezes the shaft, “not like that’s a bad thing.”

“I, I, ahnnnngoodness” Duck makes a fist so Indrid can fuck into it as he stammers, “I suppose he wanted me to reproduce at some point and, and so thought this necessary.”

A chill of reality sneaks under the covers, stilling his hand, “Uh, speakin of that. I got no plans to reproduce with anyone. Even you.”

“Oh, of course not. Though that does limit our options for the time being.” Indrid sits back, running a thoughtful hand from Duck’s neck down to his knees, “Lucky for me that so much of you was made to make love to.”

Duck snickers and Indrid bends, kissing his nose. 

“Hush, I did not spend hours and hours reading about romance not to say sweet things to you.” His fingers slide to Duck’s inner thighs, rubbing where slick has run onto them, “May I fuck between these? The thought of using them roughly while you twist in my arms is, well” he dips his head at where his cock is now fully hard. 

“Feels that way for me too, darlin.” He starts moving towards a kiss only for Indrid to flip him onto his other side. One massive hand holds his right leg open long enough to slide his cock between his thighs as he struggles to brace himself against the wall of the ship. Indrid’s arm wraps around his waist, the other tangles in his hair and pulls his head to the side so the other man can kiss and lick his way along it. 

“You feel divine dearest, nnnf, so slick and warm with so little effort. I, I do not want to ever let you out of this bed.”

“Fuckin fine by me.” Duck’s knee bangs into the wall but all that does is add to the pleasure of the moment, and he reaches down to stroke himself, the demonstration of just how big Indrid’s cock is compared to his own body making him achingly hard.

Indrid nuzzles his hair, laughing darkly, “Careful with your words, darling one. Or you’ll fail to return home in time and they will send a search party up here only to discover you tied up beneath the blankets, your only purpose to warm my bed and my cock.” He laughs again, much lighter this time, “goodness, the things you inspire me to say.”

Duck turns his head and kisses him, “Take it as a compliment. Fuck, ‘Drid, I’m close.”

Indrid’s hand leaves his hip to rest near his cock, “Show me?”

He takes it, guides Indrid’s fingers in quick, rough circles as the cock fucking his thighs speeds up, “That’s it sugar, you take such good care of me.”

“I, I do, I will, I swear, oh, oh god, god you feel wonderful, just like I imagined a husband would-”

Duck cums with a gasp, panting as Indrid releases him only to wrench him around to face him and kiss him hard, frantically jerking himself off until he cums up Duck’s belly and chest. 

Indrid grins at him, awestruck and shuddery, and then collapses with his head against Duck’s chest. 

“You’re so warm. And so soft. I love it.”

Duck kisses his forehead, strokes his hair for a moment before murmuring, “Husband, huh?”

“An idle fantasy, which I seem more likely to blurt out when in bed with you. Nothing more.”

He pushes back at the lie, “I gotta go back in three months.”

“I know.” Indrid sighs.

“Kepler is…well, it ain’t the most enlightened place in the world, but there are plenty of strange folks there. I don’t think one more would draw much attention.”

“Are you asking me to come with you?”

“I’m saying I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

Indrid nestles closer, winding his large frame around Duck, “I will think on it.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Duck returns from the arctic weather beaten and armed with plants he hopes to hybridize, which everyone in Kepler expected. 

The husband  is a surprise, as is the fact said husband prefers to keep covered in polite company. Duck explains it’s how he was raised, and that he might reveal more of his face if Kepler proves a comfortable home. 

And that, everyone agrees, seems fair. 

#indruck #promptober 2022 #promptober #indrid cold/duck newton #trans duck newton #frankenstein au #terato #monster boyfriend

[ryqoshay]

How to Handle a Nico: Sundae Sunday

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki, NozoEli Rating: G Words: 324 Fandom: Love Live Parent Fic: How to Handle a Nico Time Frame: Sometime after the former 3rd years have graduated, but before former 1st years have Event: Promptober 2022 Event Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven channel on Discord Prompt: Sundae Sunday

---------

Author’s Note: Bonus 3rd entry for Oct 23rd

Summary: Nozomi and Eli bring treats

---------

“We’re home!” Nozomi announced into the apartment as she and Eli entered.

“Welcome back.” Nico’s voice came from the living room.

“We brought treats.” Eli said.

“Thank you.” Maki responded.

“What’s this? Nicocchi is studying?” Nozomi feigned surprise as she and her girlfriend found the other two girls at the table with textbook open.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Maki smirked.

“Hey!” Nico protested. “I’ve been studying a lot lately!”

“Only because Maki-chan has been visiting a lot lately.” Nozomi pointed out. “Isn’t it shameful to have a high schooler tutor a college student?”

“No more than the last dozen times you asked.” Nico grumbled.

“Well, in any case, I’m sure you’re both ready for a break.” Eli said, putting a large bag on the table.

“Parfaits?” Nico inquired, noticing the name of her roommate’s favorite shop.

“Build-your-own Sundaes.” Nozomi corrected.

“I thought you two were obsessed with parfaits.”

“No more than you two are obsessed with crepes.”

“But crepes are delicious.”

“So are parfaits.”

“Girls, girls. You’re both pretty.” Eli interjected. “Can we eat now?” She started pulling packs out of the bag.

Maki chuckled at the reference to the movie the four had recently watched.

“Ooo, strawberries.” Nico noticed one container.

“We got extra strawberries.” Nozomi indicated a second pack. “We all love strawberries.”

Eli continued to set out containers of fresh fruit including mangos, kiwis, bananas, peaches and cherries. Several small bottles of syrup came next, with classic chocolate, butterscotch, matcha, and rum raisin. Then, packs of pastries like fancy wafers, biscuits, crumbled cookies and mochi. And finally, two sizable tubs of ice cream, one vanilla and one chocolate.

The spread was far more than was needed for four individuals to consume their daily caloric intake in sweets, but it was fun to indulge every so often.

The four young women settled into a comfortable conversation as they assembled their sundaes and began to enjoy a relaxing Sunday afternoon.

---------

Author’s Note Continued: Writing this made me want to stop at Culver’s.

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #How to Handle a Nico #Love Live #Promptober 2022 #fanfic #NozoEli #Ayase Eli #Toujou Nozomi

[acatbyanyothername9]

X-tober 2022 Masterlist

After a month of drabbles, here comes the final masterlist! Once again, the list is going to be divided between Star Wars and Hannibal.

The previous Masterlists can be found here for 2021 and here for 2020.

Star Wars fics : QuiObi (gen and ship)

Day 01 [Fictober]: “I chose you” <x>

Day 02 [Fictober]: “Nobody warned you about me?” <x>

Day 03 [Fictober]: “That wasn’t my intention” <x>

Day 04 [Fictober]: “How would that even work?” <x>

Day 05 [Angstober]: Heart of cinder <x>

Day 06 [Flufftober]: Candles, lanterns and fairy lights <x>

Day 07 [Fictober]: "Check that again, are you sure?" <x>

Day 08 [Flufftober]: Shooting stars <x>

Day 09 [Angstober]: Scream <x>

Day 10 [Angstober]: Apathy <x>

Day 11 [Flufftober]: Poetry, art, craft <x>

Day 12 [Flufftober]: “You kept this?” <x>

Day 13 [Angstober] Worthless <x>

Day 14 [Angstober]: Ashes to life <x>

Day 15 [Flufftober]: Accidents don’t just happen accidentally <x>

Day 16 [Flufftober]: “I hate you”, “I love you too” <x>

Day 17 [Flufftober]: Animal shelter <x>

Day 18 [Angstober]: False death <x>

Day 19 [Fictober]: "Do we have a deal?" <x>

Day 20 [Angstober]: Death’s companion <x>

Day 21 [Flufftober]: Good luck kiss <x>

Day 22 [Angstober]: Corruption <x>

Day 23 [Flufftober]: POV Outsider <x>

Day 24 [Fictober]: "Is it safe?" <x>

Day 25 [Flufftober]: First dance <x>

Day 26 [Angstober]: Dark Waters <x>

Day 27 [Fictober]: "We all have our reasons" <x>

Day 28 [Angstober]: Reunion <x>

Day 29 [Flufftober]: Leaves <x >

Day 30 [Fictober]: "I know what this looks like" <x>

Day 31 [Flufftober]: A sweet treat <x>

The complete series can be found on Ao3

*

Hannibal fics : Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

Day 01 [Flufftober]: Wearing each other clothes <x>

Day 02 [Angstober]: Cracks in the mirror <x>

Day 03 [Fictober]: “That wasn’t my intention” <x>

Day 04 [Angstober]: Heat <x>

Day 05 [Angstober]: Heart of cinder <x>

Day 06 [Flufftober]: Candles, lanterns, fairy lights <x>

Day 07 [Angstober]: Never again <x>

Day 08 [Fictober]: “Do you remember?” <x>

Day 09 [Angstober]: Scream <x>

Day 10 [Flufftober]: Love language <x>

Day 11 [Angstober]: The wrong tomb <x>

Day 12 [Angstober]: Eyes <x>

Day 13 [Fictober] "I don’t want you to do that" <x>

Day 14 [Angstober]: Ashes to life <x>

Day 15 [Angstober]: Drugs <x>

Day 16 [Fictober]: “You’re looking but you don’t see” <x>

Day 17 [Angstober]: The Abyss looks back <x>

Day 18 [Flufftober]: Soulmate AU <x>

Day 19 [Angstober]: Cowardice <x>

Day 20 [Fictober]: "There’s only us" <x>

Day 21 [Flufftober]: Kiss for good luck <x>

Day 22 [Angstober]: Corruption <x>

Day 23 [Flufftober]: POV outsider <x>

Day 24 [Angstober]: Shivering <x>

Day 25 [Angstober]: Wasteland <x>

Day 26 [Fictober]: “I’m doing it, shut up” <x>

Day 27 [Flufftober]: Reunion <x>

Day 28 [Angstober]: Reunion <x>

Day 29 [Angstober]: Sand towers <x>

Day 30 [Angstober]: Failure <x>

Day 31 [Fictober]: “I’m not alone and neither are you” <x>

The complete series can be found on Ao3

#promptober #promptober 2022 #Drabbles masterpost #my writing #QuiObi #hannigram #Can also count as x-tober since i did the same things as i did for the past two years while doing x-tober #x-tober2022

[iironwreath]

Sleepy [Ulysses]

Ulysses descended the stairs two at a time, adjusting her apron. She popped into the main tavern floor and fell into an easy work routine; waking fires, setting up glasses, a quick sweep, unlatching the front doors.

She served two men who drifted downstairs, each of them staring curiously at her mouth—rude, she wasn’t interested—before wandering off to separate booths to eat their breakfast. Ellendri entered shortly after. Uly flashed her a sleepy smile. Ellendri blinked and frowned, approaching with a maternal stalk that made Uly think she had made a mistake. The smile drooped.

Ellendrin rounded the bar and tugged on Uly’s sleeve to forcibly turn them towards the wall. “You’ve got lipstick all over,” she whisper-hissed. 

Uly snorted, sucking in her lips to stop from laughing proper. “Really?”

Ellendri grabbed a burnished silver cup and held it up. Dark, plum-coloured makeup smeared half her mouth and bloomed off to the side in soft smudges in a comical, distorted reflection. Uly wetted the end of a towel with booze and began dabbing.

“Why didn’t they say anything?” she asked. “Isn’t it like having food stuck in my teeth and nobody pointing it out?”

“Could be they thought you were showing it off. Better kiss marks than food.” Ellendri shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Listen, Ulysses; you and Dicentra can fuck like rabbits all you want so long as you show up and do the work.”

“It wasn’t fucking this morning,” Uly said with a dash of a smile. “It was just kissing.”

Ellendri snatched the dish towel and swatted her with it, then held her chin and attacked the remaining makeup, grousing about Uly making it worse. The touch on her jaw was gentle even if the rubbing would make her skin go raw pink. Uly felt appropriately chagrined, but also, weirdly, cared for, and still airy from being kissed at all, from having love that didn’t feel conditional.

Ellendri appraised her, nodded, and hesitated, brow muscles twitching. Her fingers wrapped loosely around Uly’s wrist, like she wanted to say more—then reconsidered, releasing her. Ulysses raised a single eyebrow.

Ellendri patted the wrist, clipping off her next words. She left Ulysses alone behind the bar.

#writing tag #writing: crow #crow (oc) #exandria #ulysses #ellendri #promptober 2022 #promptober #wildemount

[bellafarallones]

I decided to make a prompt list for October! I went for a mix of scary and fun, and there are two extras. Feel free to use these for any form of art/writing, fandom or original, just please credit me! and maybe tag me so I can see it?

#promptober 2022 #thank you thiswasinevitable for encouraging me

[underworldobsessed]

It's a Dream (As it's Always Been) ll Promptober Day 9

Title: It's a Dream (As it's Always Been) Rating: T Ship: None Characters: Korkie Kryze, Bo-Katan Kryze, Satine Kryze (Mentioned) Trigger Warning(s): Referenced Character Death (Canonical) Series: Promptober 2022 Summary: Whumptober Day 9: Tossing and Turning ll Korkie remembers the moment that he felt his mother die. It was like part of him died along with it, and sometimes… sometimes those memories haunt his dreams as well as his waking moments. It doesn't help that someone he blames for her death is there with him, pretending that she cares about him despite knowing that this was her fault. Author’s Note: I do love both these characters dearly, but I have a feeling that Korkie would be angry at Bo for Satine's death and Bo would, and probably still does in canon, blame herself for Satine's death so she understands where her nephew is coming from.

Read on AO3

#Bo-Katan Kryze #Korkie Kryze #Korkie Kenobi #Promptober 2022 #Whumptober 2022 #Jen Writes #Satine Kryze

[whoneedsapublisher]

A Gentle Push

And here it is, the final day of Promptober with the prompt "Prompt". Bit meta, that. Anyway, Happy Halloween, and I hope you enjoyed. Let's close it out with a final NozoNico.

Words: ~700

Summary: Maki almost missed out on being part of μ’s. Nozomi was a big part of why she didn't.

Also on Ao3

**********************

A lot of times in life, people just need a little push.

It isn’t about convincing them to do something. It’s not anything as dramatic as them not wanting to do it, really. They just aren’t quite able to reach out to it on their own. Something is holding them back. Inertia. Uncertainty. Fear. They know that they’re at least interested in doing it, but can’t take that last step.

Maki knows that better than most. After all, her life was almost very different. When Honoka had first approached her to be the composer for μ’s, she’d turned her down. She’d felt like she shouldn’t. The she shouldn’t. That it was a bad idea. That it wasn’t appropriate for the heir of the Nishikino family.

She might have kept thinking that. She might have kept watching Honoka, Umi, and Kotori training, too embarrassed to help. She might have watched their club not make it off the ground, without a composer.

But Nozomi gave her that one little push. It couldn’t be called persuading. From that perspective, Nozomi hadn’t done anything at all. She hadn’t convinced Maki that it was a good idea, or that it was okay for her to do it. She’d just given her that little push. That quiet nudge towards what she was already thinking about. That small thing was enough to push her over the edge she’d been loitering on, peering down and fretting about taking one more step.

It didn’t even need to be said how glad she was that she had.

Now, her life was unimaginably different from how it had been back then. Sure, back then she could have guessed that she’d become a doctor, but that she’d be friends with Nico? Impossible to predict. Even now it seemed implausible.

Perhaps it was simply because Nico had got less annoying with age. She had not grown up at a rate that anyone could call “fast”, but even Nico wasn’t as immature as she’d been in highschool. Her arrogance was much more tempted into confidence, and she was thankfully nowhere near as self-centered.

Truthfully, though, that was just about where Maki’s positive opinion of Nico ended. She was much more tolerable than highschool, to the point where Maki didn’t mind staying friends with her. Friends was plenty for her.

That opinion was not as universal as Maki would have assumed.

Yes, somehow, despite Nico’s personality, one of her former groupmates had fallen in love with that little gremlin. And it hadn’t been someone bizarre and flighty enough that Maki would have understood it, like Honoka or Kotori. No, it had been someone who Maki had thought of as far too sensible for something like this.

But Nozomi was in love, there was no doubt about that. She’d confided in Maki when they were drinking after work, bemoaning what an idiot she was to fall in love with an idol.

“I might as well have fallen in love with a nun,” she’d muttered into her beer, and Maki had rolled her eyes.

“Idols retire,” Maki had said. “Nuns don’t.”

“They graduate, not retire.”

“Don’t be pedantic.”

A few years later, just as Maki had predicted, Nico had re- had “graduated”. Maki privately congratulated Nozomi and sat back to wait for Nico to start bragging about how she had a hot new girlfriend now and Maki was still single, completely ignoring the fact that Maki had told her multiple times that she wasn’t looking to date until she finished her residency.

But that didn’t happen.

Nico was no more smug than usual. And Nozomi certainly didn’t look any more cheerful than usual.

So the next time her and Nozomi were drinking together, Maki had made a comment.

It wasn’t anything that would persuade someone to do something. It didn’t make Nico seem more attractive, or a better partner. It was just a small little comment. A hand on a back gently pressing forward.

“Now that she’s retired, I bet someone will ask Nico out sooner or later.”

That was all she said. And idle comment, moved on from into what Hanayo was up to these days. But it was a push. A little nudge of a shoulder.

When Nico called to brag, Maki smiled a little bit to herself.

She and Nozomi were even now.

#love live #nozonico #promptober 2022

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Promptober Day 22

Hand holding

Vergil x reader

Word Count: 202

Every now and then your fingers brushed each other. The times between, your fingers itched to touch him again. Yet you didn’t dare; you weren’t sure how such a stoic man would react, especially in a place as public as the Fortuna marketplace.

Of course, Vergil wasn’t the oblivious kind (even if he tended to be a bit emotionally dense), and your twitching digits didn’t escape his notice. Without a word, he shifted his ever-present sword into his other hand and laced his fingers with yours.

“Take what you want,” was all he said on the matter.

His fingerless, leather gloves were soft from wear, but that didn’t stop the hems from scratching at your skin. You didn’t care about that. Your heart was pounding from the fact that he was so willing to display his affection. You nodded, not trusting your voice. 

Lightly, Vergil’s hand squeezed yours in acknowledgement. 

You continued through the busy market. There were some curious glances at the pair of you, but Vergil had been around the island long enough that he’d started to blend into the crowds.

You felt at peace with his presence beside you even in the chaos of this place.

You felt . . . loved?

#vergil x reader #vergil sparda x reader #vergil sparda imagine #vergil imagine #reader insert #devil may cry imagine #dmc imagine #promptober 2022

[kittttycakes]

[blurb] put your lips next to mine, dear

contents: established Morpheus x reader x Hob Gadling, she/her pronouns for the reader, third person POV, no use of Y/N, reader is a university professor, fluff, 1.1k

notes: written to fill “a kiss, three ways” for my promptober 2022 self-challenge

She started it unintentionally.

It was a whim, to pull Hob back down and kiss him again before he left, abandoning her to the pile of essays she still had to grade in favor of meeting Morpheus. She’d join them later, of course, and she never really minded the two of them having time alone together, just as Hob never minded the reverse.

“What was that for?” he smiled down at her, eyebrows raised.

“Give it to Morpheus when you see him,” she replied, turning back to the pile of papers and her green pen. She couldn’t look up at him, knowing if she did, she’d see the unbearably fond expression on his face, and then she’d have to kiss him a third time, a fourth, a fifth, and he would be late and she would be even further behind.

Hob’s smile widened. “I will, then. Tell him it’s from you.”

“You’d better. It’s only fair, really, so don’t forget.”

Hob didn’t forget, and kissed Morpheus twice when he let himself into the flat and found him sitting on his couch. Their shared partner, bless her, had offered to pick Morpheus up a key once, as if he needed one. He’d declined, very politely, and then proceeded to frighten her terribly by appearing, as if out of nowhere, in the middle of their living room the next morning. Although it took time, Hob’s invitation to drop in any time was eventually taken up more often than he had previously dared to hope.

In an echo of Hob’s earlier conversation, Morpheus asked, almost amused, “What was that for?”

“One was from me, because I missed you, although God knows why, when I saw you earlier this week,” Hob grinned. “The other one was from her.”

Hob could almost see him filing this information away for use at a later date, as if he kept a ledger in his head, marked with their names entwined. Perhaps he did. Satisfied that he had done his duty by her, he made himself comfortable, and settled back to ask him what he’d been doing since they last saw each other.

-

Morpheus remembered, waiting for an opportunity.

She lay with her head resting in Morpheus’s lap, looking up at him. “Are you sure you have to go?” she asked, although she already knew the answer. “Hob will be back from his trip in a few hours, you could stay to see him when he gets in.”

“I will see the both of you together, tonight,” he replied, fingers brushing gently through her hair. “But before we meet again, I have work to do.”

“I know you do.” She sat up, smiling softly. “It was worth a try.”

“You will see me again before you even have time to miss me.”

“I always miss you when you leave, you know. It isn’t bad, I just start to look forward to seeing you again as soon as you’ve gone—oh, don’t look at me like that, please, you know I can’t help it—”

When she looked at him again, he was smiling. “You are remarkable.”

She waved the compliment away and kissed him softly, although the tips of her ears and her cheeks were flushed with a tell-tale, pleased blush when she pulled away. “Go on, then, and I’ll see you tonight. I’ll tell Hob you said hello.”

“Will you give him this for me?” Morpheus reached over to cup her cheek gently in one hand, leaning in to kiss her slowly. She opened her eyes when he pulled back, blinking a few times.

“I—yes. Yes, I think I could do that,” she replied, still a little dazed. Kissing Morpheus, she thought, did sometimes have that effect, although she was never certain if this was a side effect of his otherworldliness breaking through into the Waking world, or if it was merely something intrinsic to him.

When Hob let himself in, hours later, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him twice, once soft and once slow.

“If that’s the kind of welcome home I get after I’m gone, I should travel more often,” Hob grinned down at her, arms around her waist, holding her just as tightly as she held him.

“One of those was from Morpheus. I’ll let you guess which,” she beamed up at him, head tipped back slightly to look him in the eye, and congratulated herself privately on a job well done as Hob’s eyes darkened and he steered her towards their bedroom, suitcase abandoned by the door.

-

Hob knew an opportunity when he saw one.

“You’ll see her tomorrow, won’t you?” he asked casually, walking beside Morpheus through a dream of streets he hadn’t seen since the late 1800s, if his memory served, and it usually did.

“I had intended to call on her, yes.”

“Oh, good. Would you give her something for me?”

“Anything it might be in my power to give.”

Hob could have sworn that they had been part of an evening crowd, but as soon as he looked around for any bystanders who might be paying too much attention, they were very much alone. That was dream logic for you, he reflected briefly, before pulling the other man to him by the lapels of his coat and kissing him the way he’d wanted to, two hundred years ago.

“That was for you. This is for her.” The second kiss is slower but not softer, and by the time he pulled away, he was slightly breathless himself.

“Then she shall have it.”

Hob smiled to himself. This was going to be fun.

She hadn’t been expecting Morpheus when she let herself in to her office after her last lecture of the day, but she wasn’t above appreciating a pleasant surprise. Setting her bag down, she made sure to close the door behind herself, uninterested in answering questions from well-meaning colleagues about the man waiting for her.

“You have the best timing, sometimes, I swear. Today has been—”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence, losing her train of thought as Morpheus lifted her hand to his lips, a gesture from a bygone era that never failed to impress her and make her a bit weak in the knees.

“That—you know that’s not fair,” she lamented, no real urgency behind her words.

“I would consider stopping, if I thought you meant it. But I do have a message for you, from Hob Gadling.”

“A message? I just saw him this morning.”

When he kissed her, it took her by surprise, although after a moment, she realized she should have known by the look on his face what was coming next. She didn’t know when she’d been back against the door, only that she had, and she still had the presence of mind to be grateful that the blinds on her window were quite firmly down.

She was, she decided, quite possibly going to kill Hob, because this was neither the time nor the place for her to be feeling like this. Although…

“Shall we see if Hob’s in his office? If I have something I’d like to give him myself.”

#morpheus x reader #hob gadling x reader #morpheus x hob gadling x reader #morpheus x oc #hob gadling x oc #morpheus x hob gadling x oc #the reader who must not be named #this is technically in universe for the reader who must not be named wip but is a bonus scene if you will #am I 100% happy with this? no but I had to get it out of my head and here we are #listen there is truly no demand for this but I am my own number one audience member and I wanted this #look she has a name and I know her name but I also know how everyone gets about that so it's a secret name #promptober 2022 #kittycakes writes

[bittykimmy13]

Crown (GT)

Enjoy some cute fluffiness of Ramona making a gift for Will 🥰

Word count: ~500

Characters belong to me and the lovely @marydublinauthor​ 🌸

Promptober 2022

Will and Ramona

“Can I see what you’re doing yet?” Will knelt next to the shrub where Ramona had taken shelter from the sun. 

“No! Not yet!” She pushed her work behind her stubbornly. All morning, she had been trailing behind him to carry off flowers and leaves as he trimmed overgrown branches. All she had asked for was a piece of string and minimal questions.

It was strange to get such a stern look from someone three inches tall, but he obeyed and backed off. Whatever she was working on, she seemed proud of it. Normally, she wandered the garden while he worked—and he was careful to be aware of her position at all times. Although her staying in one spot meant less stress for him, he found himself missing the movement of her little form in the corner of his vision.

“The sun’s getting too hot,” he announced as it neared lunchtime. “Ready to go in?”

“Hang on!” She had her back to him. A pile of flowers and leaves lay before her, and she furiously tinkered with one of the buds. “Just one… more… knot. Done!” She sprang up and looked over her shoulder with a grin. “Okay, I dunno if it’ll fit, but…”

Will shifted backward to make room as she came out of the shadows, dragging the bundle of flowers and leaves along with her. Upon closer inspection, he saw she had tied two ends of the string together and had woven the flowers in. Bursts of yellow and orange created a circlet interspaced with green.

“It’s a flower crown,” she said proudly, standing up on tiptoes and holding up one end of her creation as high as she could. “I used to make them all the time. There was this fence by where I lived, and these little flowers that grew at the edges. Anyway, I dunno how long this’ll hold together, so try it on!”

Will reached out, carefully plucking the side of the flower crown from her hands. It was impressive how densely she was able to weave it all together. Still, he held it delicately, as though it was the most precious thing in the world. A smile grew on his face as he looked it over—it had been a while since he’d received a gift, especially one so thoughtfully made.

Feeling her expectant stare, he carefully placed it on his head. Ramona beamed, readily climbing onto his hand when he offered it. 

“How does it look?” he asked. 

“Well, I did make it, so obviously it looks incredible.”

Chuckling, he plucked a flower off the ground that hadn’t made it into Ramon’s collection. It was one of the smaller yellow buds, just barely opening. 

“It’s only fair that you wear something too,” he said, gently splaying the petals on her head like a hat.

She snorted, adjusting the flower. “You’re a world-class flower crown maker. Now, what’s for lunch? I’m _exhausted_. Oh, and you have to wear that all day. No excuses.”

He stood, cupping her closer to keep her safe and secure. “I couldn’t think of one if I tried.”

#gt #g/t #giant tiny #gt writing #g/t writing #mywriting #gt community #g/t community #gt fluff #g/t fluff #print universe #trinket universe #crown #will #ramona #promptober 2022

[no-hugs-peach]

My Promptober list for this year - aka my first Promptober ever!

I couldn't find an existing list and I was getting picky with the random word generator, so I asked friends and family to supply me with 5 words/phrases each. Some duplicates, but I ended with 31 prompts that I can use.

My goal is to write something for each day. At minimum a drabble, but nothing more than a one-shot. I'm not doing any pre-writing, so it's only what I write that day and I post it before midnight.

#Reesee writes #promptober 2022

[thiswasinevitableid]

Just the Two of Us (Sternclay)

Prompt for the 13th: The owner and sole employee of a themed roadside motel

The desert road stretches so far and so empty ahead of him that Barclay keeps one eye on his gas gauge. Per his interviewer's instructions, he filled up at the tiny, four pump station right before the turn off for the Extraterrestrial Highway. He just can’t shake the fear he’ll run out before he reaches his destination and he’ll be forced to either hike until he gets reception, hitchhike, or just lay down in the road and hope someone hits him. 

He turns the knob on the AC like that will somehow cause it to work again instead of pull hot air into the car. If he’s lucky he’ll get to the motel with enough time to change his shirt. 

A huge, fiberglass UFO underscores the sign for the Little A'le'inn as he pulls into the empty parking lot. He swaps his soaked button up for a clean one and heads inside.

Etta James croons from a jukebox and a half-dozen ceiling fans do their best to aid the swamp cooler on the back window. There’s no one around, so he weaves through the worn, square tables to the corner of the bar with a sign reading “check in.” Dinging the bell makes a chair scuff  in a room behind him and he turns, expecting an older guy with a long beard or a woman in overalls, someone as weather-beaten and strange as the building surrounding him. 

“Hi, how can I help you?”  The man is only a few inches shorter than him, with short, slicked-back black hair and blue eyes.  The fit of his “Groom Lake Flight School” suggests he’s got a gym set up somewhere, and he manages to make blue shorts look charming instead of preppy. 

Barclay blinks. Who the fuck cut a centerfold out of his deepest fantaises and plunked him in the middle of nowhere, Nevada? 

“I’m Barclay Cobb, we’ve been in touch about the job? I’m a little early.”

“Oh! Well, that’s not a problem in my book. Here, we can talk in my office” he gestures for Barclay to join him in an office that’s far more organized than he expected, “I apologize in advance if I have to step out to help someone.”

“You weren’t kidding in the ad when you said it was just you.”

“Sadly, no. It’s been that way since my previous cook retired three months ago. I can manage on my own with a limited menu but this is really a two-person job. Hopefully more, some day. I assume it’s also obvious why I’ve had trouble filling the role.”

“Guess it is pretty remote. But I gotta admit, right now that seems kinda nice. Especially if I won’t be all by myself?”

“We’d both be living in buildings behind this part of the Inn. I have two other semi- permanent residents, but they don’t work here. They’re both very nice guys, one runs a rockshop on the north end of the highway and the other…well I’m not really sure but I think he’s trying to turn his house into an earthship.”

“Wild.”

“It’s fascinating. I’m sure he’d be delighted to tell you about it. The three of us sometimes get together on nights when no one is here and have drinks around the fire pit.” Joseph runs a hand over his hair, and a scuff enters the polish of his voice, “look, Mr. Cobb, I’ll be frank: you’re the only qualified candidate I’ve gotten in a month. I will hire you today if you want this job. Like I said in my email, since there’s only two of us, I can pay you way above minimum wage, and your room is part of your employment. We’re also further from a grocery store, gas station, or hospital than most people are comfortable with. And while we seldom have chaotic days, both your and my hours will be pretty rough.”

Barclay shrugs, “I kinda figured.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like I wasn’t honest about the drawbacks.”

Barclay looks around at the carefully kept office, at the fact the inn feels like Joseph is trying to make it a home. Which is a lot more than he can say about where he came from. 

“...Could I move in today, too?”

His new boss only lets surprise show for a moment before nodding, “Absolutely. I’ve got your trailer all set up.”

Barclay holds out his hand, “I’ll take it.”

Joseph gives him a hundred watt smile and shakes it. 

After signing on all the dotted lines, Joseph escorts him across the gravel to the horseshoe of large, rectangular trailers, the kind that can’t go anywhere without a tow. 

“These are the accommodations for the guests; each trailer has enough space for at least two couples, so people can rent half or a whole depending on their needs. Those two cabins” he points to buildings that look like they came from a play set, “are more expensive but you’re guaranteed to be on your own. You and I are responsible for cleaning all of them, but only after a party checks out.”

“Got it. Doesn’t seem much worse than cleaning a huge house.”

“There’s a slightly higher chance of scorpions.”

“Don’t be so sure; I once worked at a cafe where the guy who lived above it kept exotic pets. Found a python under the oven once”

“Jesus” Joseph laughs, “I hope you both came out in one piece.”

“He was only this long” Barclay holds out his forearm, doesn’t miss the fact Joseph’s eyes follow the line of muscles up to his biceps.  He’s not about to ask the guy who just hired him if he wants to get a closer look, so instead he says “Is this yours?” while pointing at a small house next to a shiny new trailer.

“The house is. That, however, is all yours.” Joseph indicates the trailer, takes out his keys, “I have the keys for it in here, let me just-”

A brindled blur darts out of the half open door, spinning and barking in front of Barclay. It stops long enough for him to see it’s a greyhound before it switches to sprinting around Joseph. 

“Nessie is the welcoming committee” Joseph shakes his head fondly, “even though she’s not supposed to be out when it’s this hot; she can burn her feet just getting from here to the main building. Come on girl, back in we go.”

Barclay follows them inside, Nessie dropping a stuffed alien at his feet as soon as he closes the door. As he tosses it for her, he notices a theme running through the decor. 

“Gotta say, I would’ve expected more aliens than bigfoots. Bigfeet?”

“Bigfoot is the agreed upon term. Like deer being plural and singular.” He blushes, “sorry, that came out nerdier than I thought it would.”

Barclay takes the offered key, “Always liked nerdy guys.”

Joseph smiles at him, brushing their fingers together as his hand retreats, “Then I think we’ll get along wonderfully.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

The quiet is the strangest part. When Barclay crosses the gravel to open the Inn, or goes home after the bar is closed up, there’s so little ambient noise he swears his heartbeat can be heard for miles. 

He spends his first week adjusting the menu, adding in things that are easy to batch and theme. Joseph is particularly charmed when he finds the perfect alien green to dye the pancake/waffle batter. Indrid, who owns the rock shop up the road, is delighted to test how it is with chocolate chips. Barclay wins over Thacker, the guy in the earthship, two days later by bringing him a plate of cowboy cookies (he and Joseph agreed having pre-wrapped bake goods for sale near the checkout counter is a good way to get people to drop a few extra bucks).

Summer means roadtrips, so there’s a steady trickle of people from the E.T Highway. Barclay serves breakfast for two hours, lunch for three, and dinner for three more. If Joseph needs help with the housekeeping, he swaps out sheets and makes sure the bathrooms have toilet paper.

He takes to Thacker and Indrid’s company quickly. Joseph is another story. Yes, the guy is unfailingly polite and hotter than the desert sun. No, Barclay hasn’t seen anything quite as captivating as Joseph coming back from his morning run with Nessie at his heels, beaming down and cooing at her while his tank-top sticks to him. He knows from their first meeting that Joseph flirts in a way he understands. But the burns on his heart are still fresh, and that’s before he gets to the fact Joseph is technically his boss.

So, why, then does it bug him that Joseph seems to also be keeping his distance? He jumps in to wait and bus tables on the rare occasions Barclay is actively swamped in the kitchen, works in comfortable silence arranging the shelves of Area 51 and E.T Highway souvenirs while Barclay makes supply lists for the delivery guy. Some days it’s literally just the two of them for hours at a time, hiding among the kitsch from the apocalyptically hot sun as the jukebox croons like the ghost of Saturday night. But still Joseph doesn’t try for anything more than friendly professionalism. 

It's a month after he moved in when Joseph looks over from restocking alien shot glasses and says, “Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?”

Barclay looks up from prepping burger toppings, “No.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Barclay’s cheeks heat under the stern gaze, and he feels deliciously chastened for the second it takes him to remember this is a work conversation.

“I, uh, I guess I’m just being cautious. I’ve never lived so close with someone who wasn’t, like, a friend or a boyfriend. And I can, uh, I…” he wipes his knife with a sigh, “I can be kind of puppy dog-ish. I don’t even mean to half the time, I just want people to be happy, but it really gets on some people’s nerves.”

Sympathy crosses Joseph’s face, and nudges the boxes at his feet aside to join Barclay at the bar. 

“I have the opposite problem. I’m an overachiever, and my last job meant I had to be good with people. But I constantly come across as intimidating. And I, well, I’ve been keeping my distance because we have so much forced proximity already. I don’t want you feeling like you have to be my friend just because you work here.”

Barclay chuckles, “So we both tried to be polite and fell ass-first into being rude?”

“I wouldn’t say you were rude; I was just worried I’d fucked up somehow. Your manners are…impeccable.” An edge enters his voice. It’s the same one that was in his eyes a minute ago, the one that feels like someone is running their nails along his thighs. 

Joseph clears his throat and it’s gone, replaced by his usual, sweet smile, “I was going to pick a movie from the closet” he indicates the former broom closet that now houses rows and rows of DVDs for guests to borrow, “to watch after we close up. Would you like to join me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

The dinner rush consists of four parties in three hours, and by the time he’s locked up the building, dusk is giving way to a sky with a staggering number of stars. There’s no sound but his footsteps until he reaches Joseph’s house. 

Joseph tells him to have a seat on the couch. Nessie is in his lap the instant he sits down, and something delicious sizzles away in the kitchen. 

“Kimchi?” He calls.

“Yes!” Joseph knocks the spatula against the pan, “more specifically, kimchi fried rice. Drink? I have hard cider, beer, and sparkling water.”

“Wouldn’t turn down a beer. Here, I can-” he stands to help only for Joseph to wave him away.

“You’re my guest, and you worked longer than I did today. Just keep the lake monster distracted so she doesn’t trip me. Ever since she did it accidentally and caused me to drop a pastrami sandwich I think she’s been plotting.”

“Fuck” Barclay takes the offered bowl and bottle, “I’d kill for decent pastrami.”

“Don’t commit any felonies yet. This was barely passable.” Joseph tosses a filled Kong toy down the hall, Nessie sprinting after it while he sits down.

“Guess I could try making my own…hmmm.”

“Colder weather will mean even fewer people. You’ll have plenty of time to kill.”

“It’s that or make ginger beer; can’t beat the homemade stuff in cocktails. And I notice it’s in a lot of them.” He smirks at Joseph.

“I’ll admit I made our themed cocktails things I want to drink. And it’s good; it’s robust but sweet.” He glances at Barclay, “exactly what I crave when I’m thirsty.”

“Keep that in mind.” Barclay sips his beer, holding Joseph’s gaze an extra beat. His heart sends up a warning flare; he reminds it this is just one evening. There’s no harm in a little closeness, in being playful like he used to.

And Then There Were None (the 1945 version) flickers onscreen. As soon as dinner is gone, they’re deep in a discussion about whether it will follow the book, which they can both only half remember except for the twist. When it ends, he’s having so much fun he doesn’t want to leave. 

“I’ve got a season of Mrs. Marple in my DVD stash. Would you like to watch one?”

Two hours later, they’ve switched their beers for mugs of tea. Joseph’s reads “Bluff Creek, Ca” and Barclay’s has bigfoots that appear on the white surface warms. 

Five hours after that, Barclay wakes up with his head on an unfamiliar pillow. Opening his eyes reveals a button shirt with little UFOs hidden in the patterning and Joseph’s face looking more relaxed than he’s ever seen it. Nessie is curled up behind Barclay’s knees, as sound asleep as her owner. Barclay wants nothing more than to reach up and brush Joseph’s mussed hair into its usual swoop.

The alarms on their phones go off in tandem, sending both men and one perturbed dog off the couch in a flurry of movement. 

“Shit.” Joseph shakes the sleep from his head, “I’ve got to go open up. I’m so sorry, I should have called an end to things earlier last night. I” he blushes “I was just having so much fun.”

“Me too. But also I better haul ass over there in case someone wants breakfast.”

Luckily, only Indrid is there when they arrive. He’s stretched across in the alien mosaic benches in the morning sun, reading, and waves to them as they approach. It’s only once they’re inside that he seems to notice Barclay and Joseph in yesterday's clothes. He takes the mocha Barclay passes him and murmurs, “Glad you two are getting along.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

When deciding to change careers, Joseph made a pro and con list. Had he known then that leaving the Bureau to run an inn miles from anywhere would mean meeting Barclay, that would have gone to the very top of the “Pros” column. 

As it is, everyday he’s a little more grateful that abandoning his career set him and Barclay into each others’ orbits. It’s not that he was lonely before; he preferred solo missions, and once he came to the Inn he had enough positive contact with other people to keep him sane. But having Barclay around is like seeing the desert sky when you’ve only lived in the city; there was so much more wonder in the world than you thought. 

School started a month ago, bringing an end to the summer vacation traffic. The days will quiet as they shorten until the holidays, when a few people traveling between Reno and Vegas will decide to take the E.T highway. He and Barclay are already finding themselves with more and more empty time. So they fill it by Barclay tinkering in the kitchen as Joseph freshens up the paint on the walls, by walking Nessie into the desert to sniff for jackrabbits, and by keeping a chessboard near the check-in counter so that they can have a running game even on days when it’s suddenly busy. 

Most of all, they talk. They talk about ridiculous hypotheticals and past heartaches, about life on other planets, about how cute Nessie looks in the sweater Thacker knitted her. And every time they talk, the distance between them closes a tiny bit more. 

Today, things are so quiet they’ve decided to start on the Halloween decorations. Slime green fairy lights go around the edges of the trailers, faux pumpkins with alien faces stack up by the Inn doors, and Barclay steadies the ladder so he can hang orange lights on the UFO. 

One car passes them the entire time they’re out there. 

They switch to decorating their own houses next. As they finish hanging his custom bigfoot and jack ‘o lantern lights, Barclay glances at him with those painfully soft eyes of his. 

“I can’t believe I never asked this before but: why bigfoot?”

Stern sighs and brushes off his hands, “Bigfoot was what got me interested in the unexplained. Which is what set me on the path to working for the FBI. It was this catalyst for what I thought my life’s purpose would be. But unlike everything else I wanted to believe in, Bigfoot didn’t give me burnout and scars. When I moved in here, I wanted to fill the space with things that reminded me of what it was like to just enjoy and believe in something uncomplicatedly. Also my sisters have been giving me bigfoot stuff as a joke for years and it had to go somewhere.”

Barclay stares at the plastic, glowing ape, “I got nicknamed bigfoot twice. First time was in high school. I hit puberty early and locker room talk was not great to a guy who was already pushing six feet and covered in dark hair.”

“I’m sorry big guy. If it’s any consolation, I think you wear it well these days.”

“Thanks.” He smiles, but Joseph can sense there’s something else hiding behind his teeth. Some admission he might be able to coax out.

“What was the second time?”

“My last ex. He liked calling me that to point out how I was always taking up space. Needing attention. Then it became his way to make fun of how I dressed, what I liked doing, how I looked. He, he loved saying that it was a good thing I’d found him because no one in their right mind would want to fuck bigfoot.”

“I have several books that say otherwise.” Joseph touches his shoulder, “I’m glad he’s your ex. You deserve so much better than that.”

“It took way too fucking long, but I actually believe that now. Being here has helped. Having friends, having a home, helps.” He turns, bringing them toe to toe.

Instead of moving his hand, Joseph traces it across his chest, “I hope if anyone ever calls you bigfoot again, they mean it how it should be said. That you captivate the imagination. That seeing you is the kind of privilege some people go their whole lives without. That you're big and strong but–and no one will ever convince me otherwise–are gentle to your core.”

“Joseph-” Barclay’s hands cup his face and christ they’re big, he wants to feel them everywhere. 

“I have to know you want this. That you’re not feeling pushed-”

He doesn’t get any more words out, because Barclay is crowding him against the front door, kissing him with a pent-up passion that makes him embarrassingly weak-kneed. 

“We should take this inside.” He purrs, kissing down Barclay’s throat and wondering how he’d look in a collar. 

“There’s no one here but us. Even Thacker and Indrid are gone. Could do whatever you wanted me to, right here, and no one would ever know.” Barclay’s hands drift down into Joseph’s back pockets. 

“You’re forgetting we’re on the E.T highway. I’d hate to get abducted in a compromising position. So,” he smiles, kisses him swift and sweet, “take me to your trailer, big guy.”

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #promptober 2022 #promptober #taz amnesty